


Stanislavski Never Said Anything About Frocks

by lamardeuse



Category: Merlin (BBC) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-18
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU, complete crack. While still at drama school, Colin comes to London for an important audition and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stanislavski Never Said Anything About Frocks

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of complete and total fiction. Also, I do not actually know if Bradley James looks hot in silver lamé. Though I can imagine. Oh boy, can I.
> 
> A/N: This is all ras_elased's and cherrybina's fault. Thanks to Sihaya Black and Nny for Britpicking and awesome beta skills. Any remaining errors are mine.

Colin knew it was going to be a crappy day when he found himself standing in the middle of Finchley with no clear memory of getting there.

He'd boarded the train in Glasgow with a headache, and the five hour trip hadn't improved it in the slightest. When deciphering the Tube map had proven impossible with only one working eye, he'd rung Malcolm on his mobile.

"Where the fuck d'you live again?" Colin asked, without preamble.

"Finchley."

"Explain how to get there in words of one syllable or less, please. My head hurts."

"Your head is always hurting, you twat. Here, alright, you're in King's Cross?"

Colin grunted in what he hoped was assent, and he could practically hear Malcolm rolling his eyes at the other end of the line. The directions passed in a blur, but Colin absorbed enough to let his feet take him in the direction Malcolm had specified, and some undetermined time later he was knocking on the door of what he hoped was Malcolm's flat.

The door swung open and a blond boy with rather too much nose and enormous blue eyes was stood in front of him. "Yes?"

"Erm," Colin said. "I'm looking for Malcolm Tunney?"

"Oh, right, hullo," the boy said, smile flashing a brief view of uneven teeth as he extended his hand, "you must be Colin. I'm Bradley."

"Hullo," Colin grunted, not feeling at all social but determined not to be a complete tit about it. Bradley's handshake was just this side of too firm; Colin tried to avoid wincing and probably failed. The boy frowned slightly and released Colin's hand, then stepped back to allow Colin to enter. "Malcolm's off buying things for the party tonight, but he said he'd be back shortly."

Colin checked his watch, then unhitched his duffel from his shoulder and let it down as gently as possible. It hit the floor with a distinct _thud_, and this time he did wince.

Bradley eyed the duffel. "That's quite the overnight bag," he observed.

Colin bent down, ignoring the spike of pain that lanced through his temple, and unzipped it to reveal his most precious cargo.

"Budweiser?" Bradley said, as Colin passed them up to him. "Really?"

Colin twisted his neck to peer at Bradley. "What's the matter with Budweiser?"

Bradley pursed his lips briefly. "Nothing, only. Well. You're Irish, aren't you?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, I always thought the Irish were rather selective about their beer."

Maybe it was the terribly English _rather_ that set Colin off, maybe it was the raised eyebrow, and maybe it was the fact Colin's hand could still feel the phantom pressure of Bradley's, but he promptly decided that Bradley was a giant berk. "Sorry to disappoint you," Colin said, hauling the second six-pack out of the bag and shoving it into Bradley's arms.

Bradley opened his mouth to speak, then shut it on whatever he'd been about to say with a snap. They stared at one another for several seconds until Bradley suddenly said, too brightly, "Why don't I bung these in the fridge, then?"

"Capital idea, old chap," Colin chirped in his best toff accent. Bradley's cheeks acquired twin spots of affronted colour that were extremely satisfying to behold before he turned on his heel and stomped off to what must be the kitchen. As for Colin, he headed in the opposite direction, determined to find the loo and Malcolm's bedroom so that he could dose himself with paracetamol and slip into blissful unconsciousness for an hour or two before his head divorced itself from his shoulders.

He was ninety-eight percent of the way to sleep, sprawled face-down on a mattress he hoped was Malcolm's when the door creaked open, bringing a shaft of light from the hall that speared him in his one functioning eye. It was possible he whimpered pathetically, because the next thing he knew the mattress was dipping and a gentle hand was fitting itself over the curve of his skull.

"Headache?"

Colin jerked in surprise; the voice wasn't Malcolm's, but Bradley-the-berk's deeper one.

"Mmpphhphhh," Colin acknowledged, and Bradley's hand moved to his neck, thumb finding the tendons to the left of his spine and pressing in. Colin jerked again, but Bradley made a shushing noise and continued his ministrations.

"Relax. It'll help." Colin tried to gather the wits to tell him to bugger off, but he was too far gone and truth be told, the massage was beginning to help. When Bradley switched to the other side of his neck, Colin could actually feel the pain receding, and groaned in sheer bliss.

Bradley chuckled. "Told you it'd help." Colin felt a pat to his shoulder, and then Bradley's weight left the bed.

"Y're still a giant berk," Colin muttered into the pillow, just as the door closed, plunging him in darkness once more.

   
   
   
   
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

   
   
   
   
Despite the manner in which he was awakened – by a pair of wadded-up sweat socks impacting with his skull – Colin's headache was completely gone by the time he woke up two hours later.

"Get up, you twat," Malcolm said, thoroughly unsympathetic as always. He flicked on the light switch, and Colin startled when he saw what had to be a near-life size poster of David Bowie, complete with spangly body stocking and rhinestone-encrusted platform shoes, towering over him.

"Bloody hell," Colin breathed. "I didn't know you were such a fan."

"M'not. This is Bradley's room." As Colin turned to him, shocked, Malcolm eyed him curiously. "What're you doing in here, anyway?"

"I thought this was your room!" Colin exclaimed.

"What on earth made you think that?" Malcolm turned and plucked a framed photograph off the dresser and held it out to Colin. Two middle-aged and impossibly blond people smiled back at him. "These are not my parents."

"It was dark!" Colin protested. Malcolm only raised his eyebrows at that, and Colin realised how bloody stupid that sounded.

Colin passed a hand over his face. "Alright, so I suppose I might have crashed on the first mattress I came upon."

"Uh-huh," Malcolm said, raising an eyebrow. "You are aware you seem kind of fucked up, yeah?"

Sighing, Colin nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"You're not usually such a drama queen when it comes to auditions," Malcolm observed.

"Well, I've never auditioned in the West End before, have I?" Colin snapped, waving his arms in a vain attempt to express a small portion of his crushing frustration and abject terror. "Christ, Malcolm, I have a running clock in my head, counting down the hours and minutes!"

"And how long until your sell-by date?"

"Forty-one hours and eighteen minutes," Colin replied smartly.

Malcolm scowled at him and folded his arms. "You're making that up." Colin only stared back, and after a moment Malcolm checked his watch. "Bugger me. You're right. How'd you do that?"

Colin couldn't help it; he burst out laughing and wriggled his wrist. "I have one of those too, you know."

Malcolm scowled. "I hate you." Seizing a pillow from the bed, he smartly whacked Colin in the face with it. "Move your skinny arse, Your Highness. This may be your last good piss-up before fame and fortune come calling for it."

   
   
   
   
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

   
   
   
   
The flat was packed with people by the time Colin emerged, and he could barely wriggle his way through the crowds to get to the kitchen. Reaching the fridge after a protracted struggle, he had the sudden, horrifying thought that every last can of his Budweiser was probably gone by now. He yanked open the door and pawed through the contents, despairing when no trace of them could be found.

"Bottom drawer," a breathy voice behind him said.

Colin reached down and opened the drawer to find six of the precious cans still blessedly intact. He kissed one and grabbed another, figuring the owner of the voice deserved a reward. He straightened and turned –

– and staggered back against the open fridge as he beheld Bradley the berk in a dress.

"Feeling better?" Bradley asked, his voice still oddly softened. It wasn't quite a woman's voice, but it wasn't his, either. It had the unpleasant effect of giving Colin an image of Marilyn Monroe on steroids.

As Colin stared stupidly, it occurred to him that Bradley himself was a bit like Marilyn Monroe on steroids. He was wearing a sleeveless silver dress with a high collar that disguised his Adam's apple but managed to accentuate his well-muscled shoulders and biceps. He'd clearly donned a pair of false breasts, but it seemed as though he hadn't much experience in stuffing a brassiere, because they weren't quite a matching pair. He'd made no attempt to cover his shortish hair, though it had been curled and sprinkled with some sort of glitter that made it sparkle in the bright light of the kitchen. Colin was relieved to see Bradley's makeup was more artfully applied than one would have expected from the breasts, though relief turned swiftly to unease when it struck him that Bradley wasn't entirely – well, alright, it would seem that he was – pretty.

Disturbingly pretty, even. The lips Colin had decidedly not noticed upon first meeting Bradley were full and lush, the nose he'd dismissed as largish was actually strong and aquiline, and his previously blond eyelashes now looked impossibly long and thick. His eyes seemed even larger than before, and Colin was hard pressed to keep from staring into them like a lovestruck adolescent.

Bradley's bright red mouth curled on one side, and Colin's gaze was drawn to the movement, helplessly. "Is your head still hurting?" he asked.

Colin shook his head slowly. "No, why?"

"You seem a bit – stunned."

"Sorry, it's only that you – weren't you dressed as a bloke earlier?"

"You are an observant one," Bradley purred, mouth curving further. Colin couldn't stop staring at it, and wondering if it would be as soft as a girl's.

Bradley cocked his head. "Are you a two-fisted drinker, then?"

Colin shook his head to clear it of the terrifying thoughts that were clamouring for his attention. "Oh. No. I meant to give one to you."

Bradley smiled and held up a can of Harp. "Thanks, mate, but I've got some real beer."

Colin frowned. Right. For a moment there he'd forgotten what a git Bradley was. He took one of the cans and wedged it into his right front pocket – it was a tight squeeze, but he wasn't going to risk losing it – and popped the top on the other, then took a long swallow. When he tipped his head back down, he saw that Bradley was studying his crotch in an amused fashion.

"What?" Colin demanded. _See anything you like?_ was the thought that thankfully did not make it past his lips.

Bradley raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you afraid it'll catch cold?" he asked.

Colin waved the open beer can at the hem of Bradley's skirt, which was a bit over halfway up his very muscular thighs. The fishnet stockings did nothing for them, really. "I could ask you the same."

Bradley leaned in, and for an astonishing moment Colin couldn't do anything but stare at those crimson lips. "The lacy knickers are actually warmer than you'd think," Bradley murmured, voice pitched at its normal low tone once more.

To his horror, Colin heard himself suck in a breath like a man drowning and stumbled back against the fridge. Bradley straightened, his amusement still plain on his face, and Colin took the opportunity to slither sideways, putting enough distance between them that he could begin to breathe normally again. "Well, I'll just, yeah, gotta go, erm, find Malcolm," he babbled, and nearly tripped over his own bloody feet as he made his graceless escape.

   
   
   
   
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

   
   
   
   
"So how d'you like the DCL crowd, then?" Malcolm asked, as Colin helped him clean up after the party.

Colin opened his mouth to answer, but was temporarily distracted by the sound of Bradley's full-throated laughter from the kitchen. "They're alright. Pretty much like the Glasgow crowd," Colin managed finally, which was the truth. Despite what he'd expected, there wasn't a lot of difference, except that this bunch were more apt to wax rhapsodic about the craft than the RSAMD students, who tended to abandon shop talk in favour of a good piss-up. The London lot could drink heavily and still discuss the finer points of the Method. Colin wasn't sure whether that was admirable or just pretentious.

"Mmm-hmm," Malcolm said noncommittally, as Bradley emerged from the kitchen and smiled at both of them. His makeup was a little the worse for wear, but the dress hugged all his – well, not his curves, exactly, but oh, fuck, Colin had to stop thinking about this. He'd forced himself to quit drinking early on because with every successive can of Budweiser Bradley's arse had looked more and more attractive in its tight silver wrapping. It wasn't that he was homophobic, but he was nervous as hell about the audition on Monday, and he was not in the mood to begin questioning his sexuality.

Bradley hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Kitchen's clean, Malcolm, and Alec and Terry said they'd finish the rest in the morning. Why don't you leave it? You've done enough."

His gaze strayed over to Colin as he spoke, and Colin held it steadily. Now that he looked more closely, Bradley seemed tired, his eyes a bit bloodshot, but then it was half two.

"Cheers, mate," Malcolm said, clapping Colin on the shoulder. "You sure you don't mind taking the sofa?"

Colin shook his head as he tore his gaze from Bradley's to contemplate the piece of furniture Malcolm had indicated earlier as his guest accommodations. There was an unidentified brown stain on it that hadn't been there when he and the sofa had been introduced earlier.

"See you in the morning, then," Malcolm said. He yawned hugely. "Or afternoon, more like. 'Night, Bradley."

"Good night," Bradley murmured; Colin rubbed at the back of his neck, still studying the sofa. What the hell was that? It was too dark to be dried sick, wasn't it?

"It's Coke," Bradley said helpfully, nearly making Colin jump out of his skin. A hand landed on his shoulder, warm and strong. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

Colin turned toward him, his eyes drawn to Bradley's breasts like dogs to steak. He'd been trying to avoid looking at those breasts all night, not that he'd had much success. Or, well any success. "No, it's alright," he murmured. "Good to know."

"You going to be okay out here?"

Colin forced his gaze upward, and found Bradley's genuinely concerned expression. Swallowing around a suddenly dry throat, he managed to croak, "Yeah, I think so."

Bradley smiled. "It's only that I wouldn't like you to get another headache. I feel rather proud of helping you out of the last one."

Colin opened his mouth, then slammed it shut again. Bloody hell, was Bradley – no. He couldn't be flirting. "Well, I suppose if it happens again, I could always ask you for another massage."

Colin shut his eyes briefly, horrified at what had come out of his mouth. Shit, now he was flirting. When he opened them again, Bradley was studying him openly, a speculative expression on his face.

"Listen, I –" Colin tried to think of something that wouldn't sound idiotic, and failed. "I didn't mean to –"

Bradley leaned close, and suddenly Colin couldn't move if his life depended on it. Bradley's mouth came closer and closer to his own, until Colin could feel the warm puff of Bradley's breath. At the last possible moment, though, Bradley shied away and placed his lips next to Colin's ear.

"Don't worry," Bradley whispered, "you're not the first drunk straight boy to be attracted to a bloke in a skirt. With any luck, you won't remember it in the morning."

Colin frowned as Bradley pulled back. "M'not drunk," he muttered, oddly stung by the summation.

Bradley smiled thinly. "That wasn't the more important adjective."

Colin folded his arms. "You're amazingly patronizing, even for an Englishman."

Bradley blinked at him, then to Colin's surprise, threw back his head and laughed. "Let's not revert to ethnic stereotypes, alright?" he managed after a moment. "You cured me of that earlier."

"You're such a git," Colin said, smiling in spite of himself.

Bradley sobered, the intensity of his gaze enough to make Colin's breath stutter in his throat. "And you've got the most fucking gorgeous mouth I've ever seen," he murmured. "I guess that makes us even, yeah?"

Colin only gaped at that, shocked and turned on and shocked that he was turned on, but before he could summon enough brain to form a response, Bradley chuckled humourlessly, shook his head and took a step back.

"I must be the drunk one. I'm just going to –"

Colin's hand shot out and grasped Bradley's wrist. "Wait."

Bradley stared down at Colin's hand, then lifted his head to study his face. "Look, mate, you don't want –"

"Leave it," Colin growled, and closed the distance between them to press his mouth to Bradley's. After a couple of seconds of unresponsiveness, Bradley tilted his head and pressed back. Colin stroked his thumb over Bradley's pulse point as they kissed. The chemical taste of the lipstick was familiar, but everything else about it was new, from Bradley's deep, needful groan to the scrape of his late night beard to the vise-like grip of his hands on Colin's upper arms as he pushed him away.

_Oh_, Colin thought as he blinked somewhat stupidly at Bradley.

"Listen, there's something you should know," Bradley murmured, his gaze on a spot somewhere near Colin's left ear. "This was an acting experiment. Well, more of a dare, actually."

Colin frowned. "What?"

"I mean," Bradley continued, "that some of my mates were after me, because I'm always the footballer or the tennis pro or the Head Boy or the Prince of Wales or some such in class, most of the time because I pick it, because it's easy, right? And they bet me five quid I couldn't – you know, stretch myself. Try something different."

Colin only shook his head. "And you interrupted a fairly brilliant snog to tell me this because..."

Bradley ran a frustrated hand over his now less-than-curly locks, scattering glitter as he did. "Because I'm not – this isn't me. Not that I have anything against blokes who do, it's just – if you think that's who you're snogging, you're wrong."

Colin opened his mouth, then closed it again, because what he'd been about to say would have made _him_ sound like a giant berk. _It's only a one-night stand,_ he'd been about to say, _we don't need to share our life stories,_ but as he actually gave it some thought, he realised that wasn't strictly true. The truth was that Colin was strangely drawn to Bradley, had been since he'd opened the damned door a few short hours ago, and it had little to do with form-fitting silver frocks or how big Bradley's eyes looked when framed by mascara. Not that he could say any of this to Bradley, so he tried a different tack.

"I've got an audition on Monday morning," he murmured, holding Bradley's gaze. "My family, my friends, fuck, everybody at school thinks I'm going to get the part, and I'm shit scared I'm going to balls it up. That I'll disappoint them."

Bradley nodded, seeming to understand what Colin was trying to do. "Where's the audition?"

"At the Young Vic."

Bradley's eyes widened comically. "Lovely. No pressure there, then."

And that was just so completely what Colin needed to hear that he burst out laughing. Bradley followed suit, and Colin placed a hand on his shoulder to steady himself.

"Oi!" came a shout from one of the bedrooms down the hall. "Some of us are trying to pass out!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Colin yelled back, and as he turned back to Bradley, he saw the other man was fighting to regain his composure. "You're a bad influence," he hissed, mock-accusingly.

"Yeah, I know it," Bradley whispered back, reaching up and swiping over Colin's lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Colin froze, immobilised by that small touch.

"You've got my lipstick on you," Bradley husked, and Colin went hot all over. He caught Bradley's hand in his, then licked the tip of Bradley's thumb before sucking it into his mouth, and Christ, he'd never even done anything like that with a girl. Bradley's fingers stroked over Colin's chin, then firmed, tugging him closer, but Colin stopped him with a hand on his chest and pulled Bradley's thumb free.

"How about we do this without the costume, yeah?" he murmured, and bugger, he still didn't know what the fuck was going on, but he didn't much care any longer.

Bradley looked at him, really _looked_ at him then, and Colin thought that maybe he knew what he was doing after all. "Yeah, okay," he rasped, the low sound going right to Colin's cock. "I might need some help getting out of it, though."

   
   
   
   
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

   
   
   
   
Which was how Colin ended up in Bradley's bedroom, slowly pulling down the zip on Bradley's dress, the soft _tick-tick-tick-tick_ sound echoing off the walls and mingling with the harsh sounds of their breathing. When he bared the bra, though, Colin forgot how to breathe. Bradley's hand scrabbled at his back, trying to reach it. "Could you –"

Colin fumbled with the fastening, finally releasing the dastardly array of hooks, and Bradley immediately began shrugging his arms out of dress and brassiere both.

"Oh, cheers," he sighed happily. "I don't know how women put up with those torture devices every bloody day." Colin helped him pull his other arm out of the dress, and suddenly there was a shower of white objects falling from Bradley's chest to the floor.

"What the fuck –" Colin murmured, bending down to pick one up. "Cotton balls? You had fake tits made of cotton balls?"

Bradley's freshly washed lower lip poked out in a mock pout. "I tried socks, but they looked too lumpy. Besides, didn't stop you from staring at them all night."

"I was n –" Colin's protest was cut off by Bradley's kiss, and he soon gave up worrying about it, or anything else, really.

Bradley's hands slipped under Colin's t-shirt, and Colin shivered as they pushed the material up his torso. "Let me know if I'm going too fast," Bradley murmured against Colin's mouth. Colin nodded mutely, then lifted his arms to help Bradley finish the job.

When taking off his shirt interrupted the kissing, Colin got his first good butcher's at Bradley's real chest. He was a little dismayed to see that Bradley's pecs were as well-developed as his shoulders and arms, not that that should have been a surprise. Colin was in good shape, but he'd never been anything but lean. He resisted the urge to cross his arms over his own chest.

Bradley didn't seem bothered by what he saw, however, for he bent to lick at one of Colin's nipples, then the other, making Colin clutch at Bradley's shoulders to keep himself upright. Bradley's own hands fastened on Colin's hips as he straightened and captured Colin's mouth once more. Experimentally, Colin let his own hands trail down over Bradley's chest – bugger, he was _hairy_ – and rubbed his thumbs over Bradley's nipples. Bradley gasped into his mouth, and his short nails dug into Colin's skin. Encouraged, Colin tried a gentle pinch.

"Too much?" Colin asked, when Bradley grimaced in obvious discomfort.

"Nearly," Bradley admitted. "They're – pretty sensitive."

"Okay," Colin said; debating with himself for a moment, he bent down and kissed one gently in apology. Bradley whispered an oath and threaded his fingers through Colin's hair, but made no attempt to hold him there. The hair tickled Colin's lips as he brushed the other one, but he didn't mind.

Speaking of not minding, he was going to have to take off the rest of Bradley's frock sooner or later, and since he was down here, he might as well give it a go. Kneeling down, he caressed Bradley's belly and sides, then reached back to deal with the zip.

"Oh, fuck," Bradley breathed, and it was then that Colin realised he was now eye-level with Bradley's dick. Bradley's very interested dick, which was currently pushing against the bunched-up material of the dress and looking somewhat daunting from this angle.

"Colin, you don't have to –" Bradley breathed, tugging at his shoulder. Colin looked up to see Bradley staring down at him, face such a mixture of hope and need that Colin suddenly felt ashamed at his trepidation. Shrugging off Bradley's hand, he finished with Colin's zip and began rolling the dress down over his hips.

"Wait," Bradley commanded, placing his hands over Colin's. Colin looked up again, irritated at being robbed of his momentum. Bradley's cheeks were ruddy with the natural blush of arousal, and his mouth was red and swollen from Colin's kisses, and fuck, he was absolutely gorgeous without a single bit of makeup on.

"I already know about the lacy knickers," Colin said. "You're not going to shock me."

"Erm," Bradley answered, "actually, I'm not. Wearing any."

Colin stared up at him, mouth hanging open for a moment before he started giggling uncontrollably.

"Thanks a lot," Bradley said, as Colin leaned his forehead against Bradley's thigh, "that's doing wonders for my confidence, that is."

"I'm not laughing at you, or your lack of knickers," Colin managed. "I'm just – this is all a little mad, isn't it?"

There was a pause, and then Colin felt Bradley's hand in his hair again. "I suppose it is," he conceded.

Colin pushed himself to his feet and stood before Bradley, watching his reaction carefully as he cupped his face in both hands. "Alright?" he asked softly. Bradley nodded, and Colin kissed him almost chastely, brief, closemouthed kisses, over and over again until they were both shuddering against the restraint.

"Y're tryin' to kill me," Bradley complained between kisses, and Colin let go of Bradley's face so that he could roll the dress down over Bradley's hips and off, then wrapped his hand around Bradley's cock and opened his mouth against Bradley's in the same moment.

Bradley made a desperate sound in the back of his throat and plunged his tongue into Colin's mouth, and Colin began a slow, firm stroke, similar to the one he preferred himself. It was a little awkward at this angle, but it wasn't as strange as he'd expected. Sex was sex; the rush when you made that connection with another human being was the same, and unless he was very much mistaken, he and Bradley seemed to be connecting just fine.

As if to prove his theory, Bradley's fingers popped the button on Colin's jeans, and his big, surprisingly graceful hand slipped inside, palm molding to Colin's hardness. Colin nearly bit down on Bradley's tongue at that, because bloody fuck, he was a lot farther along than he would have expected after a few kisses and a sharp left turn on the sexuality road map.

"Okay?" Bradley whispered, and Colin nodded frantically, using his free hand to help shove down his jeans and boxers. Bradley chuckled, then looped an arm around Colin's neck and led him toward the bed. And then he sat down on the mattress in front of Colin and nuzzled his cock, and Colin nearly leapt out of his skin.

"Christ," he hissed, causing Bradley to look up at him in concern, "no, that's brilliant, really, but if you don't want me screaming the house down, you'd best take it a bit slower."

"Alright," Bradley said, shoving himself back onto the mattress and stretching out, then patting the mattress beside him, "c'mon, then."

Colin started to climb onto the bed, then remembered his socks. He tugged them off swiftly, to Bradley's mischievous grin.

"That's too bad," he sighed. "I have a terrific kink for men in white sport socks."

"Berk," Colin muttered, lying down beside him and propping himself up on an elbow.

"Look, I said I was sorry about the beer," Bradley said, still grinning as he leaned in.

"You never did, actually," Colin said, making Bradley draw back, "but I figured the massage was a sort of apology."

"That was more like me finding you in my bed and having to put my hands on you somewhere so I didn't explode," Bradley murmured, kissing him lightly.

Colin flushed. "You really –"

"Yeah," Bradley whispered. Another kiss. "I know what I like."

"Apparently I didn't," Colin said, and this time he was the one to kiss. "But I'm starting to figure it out."

"Good," Bradley said, grinning against Colin's mouth as they pressed closer together, as Colin stroked a hand over Bradley's hip, then slid further back. When Colin trailed his fingertips down the cleft, Bradley shuddered and pressed his forehead to Colin's shoulder.

"D'you want to?" Bradley asked, voice so low it was almost pure vibration.

"Do I – oh, no, no," Colin said, swiftly pulling his fingers away. Bradley stiffened against him, and Colin added, "I mean, I wouldn't have the first idea of how to – do it."

Bradley lifted his head. "You wouldn't have to. I mean, I could do – erm, most of the work. If you liked."

Colin swallowed. "Oh," he said stupidly. To the extent that he'd thought about it at all, he'd imagined them jerking one another off. This was – God, the thought of doing that, of having Bradley sitting on his cock, straddling his hips and _riding_ him, was just –

Wow, it was actually incredibly fucking hot.

Bradley shook his head. "Sorry, that's a bit much, yeah? We could just go back to –"

"No, no, no! That would be brilliant! I mean –" Colin cut himself off mid-babble, because he was sounding like a desperate, horny git, which he supposed he was. Bradley didn't seem to mind, though, because he grinned openly, then leaned in and kissed Colin breathless.

"We do anything you don't like, just tell me to stop and I will," Bradley murmured against his lips, and then he was bounding off the bed and rummaging about in a drawer. Colin flopped onto his back and stared up at David Bowie, who didn't seem to care what the fuck was going on right under his nose.

Just as well, he supposed.

   
   
   
   
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

   
   
   
   
"Alright?" Bradley asked, fringe falling across his eyes as he looked down at Colin.

"Nnnngghhh," Colin managed, which he thought was pretty coherent considering Bradley was currently perched astride Colin's lap with Colin's cock up his arse. His cock had never been anyplace so warm and tight in its life, and it was letting him know how very happy it was to be there.

Bradley smiled and began to lift up, but Colin stilled him with two hands on his thighs. "Slow, yeah? Or this – might be over way too soon."

Bradley's smile turned completely wicked. "Wouldn't want that, would we?" he rumbled.

"Not – helping," Colin gritted, as Bradley rose at a snail's pace, leg muscles bunching under Colin's hands. By the time Bradley began his next descent, Colin no longer felt as though he was going to embarrass himself.

"Fuck," Bradley breathed when Colin was fully seated again, "that's – nearly too much."

Colin felt a sudden flare of unreasoning jealousy at the thought he was being compared, then realised what Bradley was saying. "Are you alright? M'not – it's not hurting –"

"A little," Bradley murmured. "It's fine."

"It's not _fine,_ what are you –" Colin started to shove at Bradley, trying to get him off, but Bradley caught his hands, stilling them, and looked him in the eyes.

"Relax," he soothed, leaning down and pinning Colin's hands to the mattress. "It's just – been a while."

Colin stared up into those huge eyes. "Oh. How long?"

"Since I've done – this? 'Bout a year."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Bradley said softly, leaning closer and brushing their lips together. "Anything else you want to know?" His hips began to swivel anticlockwise, and Colin's cock told him it would like that to _never, ever stop_.

"No," Colin said, "no, I'm good. Great. Fantastic."

Bradley kissed him. "Yeah? You like it?"

_I like you_, Colin nearly said, but that would've been rubbish. "Yeah, I could – oh, fuck – get used to it."

Another swivel, and Colin gasped and his spine bowed. Bradley sucked at his Adam's apple before sitting up again. "Too bad you're in Scotland."

"Well," Colin panted, as Bradley started to rock, "maybe I'll – maybe I'll get this part."

Bradley's rhythm faltered for a moment before he took it up again. "Maybe you will," he said, voice giving nothing away.

Colin reached blindly for Bradley's hands where they hung at his sides, and threaded their fingers together. Bradley's head had fallen back as he picked up speed. "Bradley," Colin managed; Christ, he was so close, they were – "look at me."

Bradley didn't react at first, though Colin was fairly sure he'd heard him, and then he raised his head and met Colin's gaze, and the look in his eyes – a flicker of hope he couldn't hide, a fondness that made no more sense than this mad, mixed-up night and yet somehow made all the sense in the world – sent Colin careening over the edge. He jerked his hips, driving himself up into Bradley, and Bradley groaned and shuddered and came apart around and above him without a single touch to his cock.

After Bradley had collapsed onto the bed beside him and Colin had taken care of the condom, they lay staring up at the ceiling.

"That's some poster," Colin observed.

"Once I got completely pissed and my mates said I sang 'Ziggy Stardust' and pranced about in Malcolm's girlfriend's pants. I've conveniently blocked it from my memory."

"Wish I could do the same."

"Oh shut up, you were turned on by the thought I was wearing lacy knickers."

"Mmm, maybe I was," Colin conceded. He took a breath, let it out, then reached across the distance between them and found Bradley's hand with his own. Bradley squeezed it, then rolled toward him and kissed his shoulder.

"Staying?" he asked, and there was a hesitancy behind the question that was, Colin already knew, completely unlike Bradley. But then, Colin realised, he wouldn't be expecting a straight bloke to risk being caught in bed with another bloke.

Well. Obviously he wasn't as straight as he'd thought.

He turned toward Bradley. "I'd like to. If you'd like."

Bradley's gaze searched his face, then seemed to find what it was looking for. "Yeah. I could help you run lines tomorrow."

"Cheers," Colin said, smiling. Bradley smiled back, then rolled over to switch off the light.

As he helped Bradley pull the covers up over them both, Colin realised he wasn't as scared of the audition any longer.

Bradley's hand found his again in the warm cocoon between their bodies.

In fact, he was even starting to like Finchley.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Nympha_Alba has written a terrific sequel to this called [Rebel Rebel (You've Torn Your Dress)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/188076/chapters/276577). Check it out! :)


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